


Leadership

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [37]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 05:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Harry reaches out when they part, catching Evan’s fingers. They thread in his easily, instinctive, and Evan’s hand is curled around his when Harry grabs Roman one-handed to pull him in again. It’s grounding, Evan’s skin against his, keeps him from going adrift, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t overwhelming, somehow even more despite the anchor. Still, there’s something right about it, the steady clutch of Evan’s hand not countering the press of Roman’s mouth but complementing it.It’s not quite satisfaction Harry feels, something almost — well, Harry’s never denied being greedy. Greedy enough to want more, greedy enough to push his luck.





	Leadership

Harry’s never kissed someone like Roman. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that no one’s ever kissed Harry the way that Roman does. Harry can’t think of a word for it. Or maybe it’s that Harry has too many words to choose from — intense, possessive, competitive. Overwhelming is the one he decides on in the end, the one that sticks. Overwhelming, the way Roman takes charge of things in a way that would make Harry bristle if he didn’t like it so much, makes him bristle a little that he _does_ , the way Roman’s hand curls around the back of his neck, fingers digging in, not enough to hurt at all but enough to _feel_ it to the point that Harry has thinks when Roman lets go he’ll still feel the echo of it, four points of contact — _Roman touched you there, Roman’s still touching you._

Harry’s right. When Roman lets go Harry can still feel him. His mouth’s sensitive, almost raw when he licks over his lips reflexively. He can still feel the phantom his grip even as Roman pulls Evan in, and Harry feels like watching isn’t intrusion but involvement, his eyes on them a touch of its own.

Evan’s a bit hesitant, which isn’t surprising. Roman is too, which is, right up until Harry remembers that they haven’t actually fucked. It’s noticeable, Roman’s hands on Evan’s cheek, his neck, the way it looks carefully chaste even though the touch burned right through Harry when it was Roman’s hands on him, didn’t feel chaste at all. Roman doesn’t kiss Evan anything like he kissed Harry, but with the way Evan looks when Roman pulls back, low-lidded and breathless, Harry has a feeling overwhelming might be the word Evan would use as well.

Harry reaches out when they part, catching Evan’s fingers. They thread in his easily, instinctive, and Evan’s hand is curled around his when Harry grabs Roman one-handed to pull him in again. It’s grounding, Evan’s skin against his, keeps him from going adrift, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t overwhelming, somehow even more despite the anchor. Still, there’s something right about it, the steady clutch of Evan’s hand not countering the press of Roman’s mouth but complementing it. 

It’s not quite satisfaction Harry feels, something almost — well, Harry’s never denied being greedy. Greedy enough to want more, greedy enough to push his luck.

Harry pulls back, letting go of Evan’s hand to get his shirt over his head, because someone’s got to have some initiative here. He knows it won’t be Evan, and though he kind of figured Roman for a rip your shirt off if you’re taking too long, get you on your knees kind of guy, he’s increasingly aware Roman’s basically the opposite. Maybe not so much hook-ups, because he’s had far more than Evan and Harry combined since they came to the team — and not just because Evan and Harry combined equalled zero — but maybe he’s the opposite when it matters. Evan clearly matters. Harry gets that. It’s kind of weird to think of that including him too, though. 

“We shouldn’t—” Roman says, when Harry impatiently goes for his shirt, since he’s not getting the message that it’s time to take it off.

“You said you were in,” Harry says, then, because that sounds awful and he is _not_ that guy, “If you changed your mind, that’s totally—”

“I said we shouldn’t,” Roman says. “Not that—”

“We won’t?” Harry fills in, and he doesn’t know if Roman kisses him to shut him up, or to avoid speaking, or as a reward for the right answer. Doesn’t matter, he decides quickly. Result is the same, and if Roman kisses him every time he _does_ want to shut him up, arguments are going to be a lot more enjoyable in the future. Probably a bad idea to give Harry incentive to argue. He’ll never stop.

“But seriously you need to take your clothes off,” Harry says when Roman pulls back long enough to let him breathe, because that’s important and he will not be distracted from it.

Evan makes a sound at that, and Harry looks over at him, the way his eyes are caught on them. There’s distance between him and them, obviously more than between Harry and Roman, because Harry’s practically in Roman’s lap, and Harry doesn’t know if that’s just physical space. Harry still felt involved from the outside, but he doesn’t know if that’s true for Evan, does know he wouldn’t say anything even if he did feel excluded. 

Evan’s the center of this, has been from the start, the sun they both revolve around if Harry’s going to be cheesy about it, and apparently he is. He can’t really hold back the cheesiness lately. Side-effect of falling so hard for someone that a smile from them feels like some hard won victory, is enough to single-handedly make his day. The smiles have grown more common, with the exception of lately, but the way they hit Harry like a blow to the chest hasn’t changed. 

Harry pulls away from Roman reluctantly, Roman’s own reluctance evident in the way his touch lingers, callused fingers leaving goosebumps as they drag along Harry’s bare side.

“Hi,” Harry says, turning to Evan, catches Evan’s “Hi” against his mouth, just the trace of the word as Harry kisses him, Evan’s hand reaching out to steady Harry. Harry doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or not, but it lands on Harry’s side over the trace of Roman’s touch.

“What do you want?” Harry mumbles against Evan’s mouth. “Whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.” He doesn’t even need to check with Roman to know that’s true.

“I,” Evan says, then his answer’s lost against Harry’s mouth again. 

Harry should probably actually let him talk. He pulls back, pecking the corner of Evan’s mouth.

“There’s, um,” Evan says after a moment. “There’s a lot? It’s kind of — there are a lot of choices.”

That is possibly an understatement. Once he starts thinking about it, Harry’s practically short-circuiting going through them. It was bad enough when he had Evan laid out under him, paralyzed with all the things he hadn’t done, all the things he wanted to do, things he’d wanted for awhile, things he didn’t want until he had Evan pressed against him. And that’s nothing compared to the options in front of them right now.

Harry would pick for him if that’d make it easier, but he doesn’t even know where to start, and something in him is afraid of making the wrong choice, like this is a one time only thing and he’ll waste it. Maybe it is. For all the talk, the puff of Evan’s breath against his mouth, the heat of Roman’s bare skin still branded against his own, this is all as fragile as glass. 

“I can blow you,” Harry says when it becomes clear Evan’s torn. Evan looks hesitant, eyes flicking over to the door, and Harry’s a little startled to realize he knows exactly what Evan’s saying without him saying anything, the anxiety about a hotel room, heightened by the situation, the way they have no idea whether someone’s outside, keeping an ear out in case something goes down, that they’d hear him. It’s all written across Evan’s face, and Harry doesn’t know when he started to be able to read Evan’s language, but he thinks he’s getting decently good at it, at least sometimes. Other times — well, sometimes is better than nothing, but he’ll keep trying to get better at it. 

“He can keep you quiet,” Harry says. “You know, your dick in my mouth and his tongue in yours. Or—”

Evan kisses him hard. Harder than he’s ever kissed Harry before, less controlled. Harry didn’t realize he’d kept that little bit of control in all of them, the desperate ones, the post-coital ones, right up until now, like Evan’s throwing himself at him, throwing everything at him, trusting Harry to catch him.

Harry has never been so turned on in his life.

“So, good idea, then?” Harry asks breathlessly when Evan finally pulls back.

Evan laughs in response, just as breathless. 

“Cool,” Harry says, and because it’s not just them, “Roman, you cool with that plan?”

“I think I can handle it,” Roman says with a hint of amusement, but when Harry glances over none of that has made it to his face, Roman’s eyes on Evan’s smile, the flush already starting to crawl down his throat, before they flick over to meet Harry’s, pupil dark and intense. 

“Cool,” Harry says again, kind of weak. He realizes that when he thought about this, those niggling, sharp thoughts he tried and failed to shove aside, he was never involved. It was always Roman and Evan, but more than that, Roman _doing_ something to Evan. No matter what it was it was Roman _making_ Evan moan, squirm, beg.

Even when the thoughts shifted to Roman on the receiving end, they still weren’t — it wasn’t Evan blowing Roman, it was Roman shoving his cock down Evan’s throat. Always Roman in the driver’s seat, Roman taking, and in Harry’s head it was taking from him, even though Harry knew logically that Evan wasn’t his, that Evan was a person and not a prize or whatever the hell his stupid jealous brain twisted things into, that anything that Roman had was something Harry didn’t, that every time Roman touched Evan he’d be wiping away the traces of Harry there, that his touch would linger on Evan’s skin the way it does on Harry’s right now.

But now, it’s Harry — not calling the shots exactly, because whatever Evan wants, Harry wants to give to him, but Harry who’s taking the initiative, Roman following Harry’s lead. It’s gratifying, kind of, but more than anything else it’s stupid hot.

Getting Evan undressed is a team effort. It also probably takes way longer than it would if Evan just undressed himself. Harry is not helping so much as getting in the way, probably, fingers tracing over the miles of bare skin exposed, getting his mouth involved when he can’t help himself.

Evan squirms under him, ticklish, when Harry presses his mouth to his stomach. “Sorry,” Harry says, and then undermines himself by doing it again until Evan laughs and shoves his head back, getting his pants off unaided — or hindered — by either of them.

“Um,” Evan says. “Are you guys gonna—”

Evan has a very good point. Harry kicks out of his pants quickly, frowning over at Roman, who’s still fully dressed, which isn’t fair.

“Hurry up and get your clothes off, Novak,” Harry says. 

“Impatient,” Roman says, like that isn’t probably the first word someone would use to describe Harry and therefore not even worth mentioning, but finally tugs his shirt over his head.

Obviously it’s not the first time Harry’s seen Roman naked, not even, admittedly, the first time he’s _looked_ at Roman naked, but context is everything. He’s big in the locker room, even among twenty plus other guys who are of above average height and well above the average level of fitness, but here, in a cramped double bed, he’s fucking massive, thick all over, neck, biceps, other things Harry’s noticed, found it impossible not to notice, but fuck, his thighs are practically twice the size of Harry’s, and Harry’s aren’t exactly small.

_How does he hide all that under his clothes?_ Harry thinks a little hysterically, biting it back along with even more hysterical jokes about junk in trunks.

He isn’t even naked, so Harry doesn’t know why it’s all so much. He’s kept his underwear on, despite the fact he’s straining them, that they look uncomfortable. Fuck knows Harry’s are right now, in a way two discreet adjustments haven’t particularly helped. But Harry gets it. This is about Evan right now, not either of them. Or more that it’s about focusing on Evan, because neither of them is exactly martyring himself: Harry wants to get his mouth on Evan, fuck knows that isn’t a hardship, and if he’d have to guess, he’d say Roman is probably not like, bemoaning his fate of being forced to kiss Evan Connelly. 

Of course, if Harry’s going to blow Evan, _someone_ has to get naked, and he quit undressing when both of them did.

“Take it off,” Harry chants, and after a moment Roman joins him.

“You’re so immature,” Evan says, which is rich since he was a teenager literally this calendar year, but he hooks his thumbs in his briefs and tugs them down his thighs.

Roman stares. Like. Very obviously. Harry totally gets it.

“Jesus Christ Connie, where the hell do you hide that thing?” Roman asks, apparently channeling Harry. It’s a totally valid question though.

“Right?” Harry says. 

“I’m—” Evan says.

“If you say sorry for having a big dick I am going to scream,” Harry says. “For real.”

Evan opens his mouth.

“Scream,” Harry repeats.

Evan shuts it.

“I think I’m jealous,” Roman says, even though, from what Harry can see from the way he’s straining his briefs, he’s not exactly wanting. Harry’s going to want to be putting his mouth on that too. Oh. Maybe that’s what Roman’s jealous of. Harry would be.

“Of Evan for his dick or me for getting to put my mouth on it in a second?” Harry says.

“I’m gonna go with both,” Roman says, then, “Connie, quit hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” Evan lies, muffled behind the hands covering his face.

“Even your _hands_ are blushing,” Harry says, completely fascinated. “You are so cute.”

“Stop,” Evan mumbles.

“Okay but if you keep hiding Roman’s not going to be able to kiss you,” Harry says. “So like, up to you, but—”

Evan slowly lowers his hands, looking up at them shyly.

_I am stupid in love with you_ , Harry thinks, and ducks down Evan’s body to keep himself from saying it. It doesn’t seem like the time, considering how even an hour ago everything was a tangled mess. And Roman’s here, which is — it doesn’t seem like the time, that’s all. 

Harry wonders if the learning curve on blowing dudes is always so easy, or if it’s just when you stick with the same guy, but either way, he’s hit a level of comfortable confidence with Evan. It’s kind of weird, because he was self-conscious comparing himself to Roman, and if anything he’d think that would make him want to show off, show _exactly_ how well he knows Evan’s body already. And he does, kind of, but that’s less for Roman, who’s kind of distracted kissing Evan anyway, and more for Evan himself, not proving himself really just — trying to make him feel good. Hoping he’s feeling that kind of overwhelmed Harry did, the edge of too much, but _right_.

It’s quieter than it usually is, quieter even than when Evan’s trying to be quiet. He can hear the sound of Roman and Evan kissing, the slick dirty sound of his mouth around Evan, but mostly it’s his other senses in hyperdrive — the salt bitter of Evan’s pre-come on his tongue, the jerk of muscle in his thigh as he tenses when Harry takes him deeper, the stretch of Harry’s mouth, the start of an ache in his jaw, Evan’s fingers tracing over the shell of his ear and making him shiver.

Harry misses the sounds, a little, the soft noises that are louder when they’re alone at Harry’s, bitten off when they’re not, when Evan’s worried about being quiet, but always something to guide him, let him know if he’s doing something right. He misses them, but it’s insane how hot it is when he looks up through his lashes to see Roman’s mouth on Evan’s, fingers curved over his cheek, as gentle as the kiss isn’t. It’s completely different than it was between them before, almost harsh and definitely not chaste. Harry guesses it’s hard to avoid sexual when Evan’s got his dick in Harry’s mouth, Roman’s hips shifting in his peripheral, rutting a little into Evan’s side. Harry could reach up, get a hand around him, but he’s not the best at multi-tasking, and anyway until he somehow loses his gag reflex completely, he’s never going to manage to take all of Evan, so he needs that hand to jerk off what he can’t get his mouth around.

Evan gasps above him, loud, louder than Harry thinks he’s ever been in a hotel room, like he’s forgotten where he is, dick jerking a little in Harry’s mouth, and Harry glances up again, sees Roman’s head ducked over Evan’s chest, mouth on his nipple. Harry knows exactly how sensitive they are, and if Roman didn’t before, he knows now, his hand finding the other, fingers pinching it as Evan’s hips shove forward, practically choking Harry on his cock.

“Sorry, sorry,” Evan says breathlessly.

Harry shoots him a thumbs up, gets rewarded with Evan’s hand smoothing an errant curl from his forehead, the low sound of Roman laughing, a little scratchy, like he’s the one who’s had Evan’s cock down his throat. What would have been a thought tainted by envy is hot when Harry thinks about it now, switching places, Roman’s mouth hot and wet around Evan while Harry kisses him quiet, swallows the sounds he can’t help but make.

When Evan comes it’s muffled, Harry getting his warning in Evan’s hand going tight in his hair before trying to nudge him off, which obviously Harry is not going along with. He kisses Evan’s shaking thigh as he pulls back, the scar on his hip, the palm of his hand when it cups his cheek.

“You good, Ev?” Harry asks, and laughs when Evan gives him a thumbs up right back. 

“Jesus, come here,” Roman says, pulling Harry up, and kisses Harry hard and searching. Roman’s tasting Evan in Harry’s mouth, Harry realizes, and holy — at this rate the ‘hottest thing to ever happen to Harry’ meter is going to break by the end of the night. He’s a little worried when he finally comes he’s going to _die_.

Speaking of which, the arousal that he’s been able to — well, not ignore, but at least shove aside in favor of focusing on Evan, has reached the point of well past distracting. He feels like he’s throbbing with his damn heartbeat and like if he got his hand around himself he’d get himself off in a minute flat, but that’s not — if this is the only time, he doesn’t want it to go down like that.

Evan looks all warm and soft and pretty, heavy-lidded with post-coital satisfaction, and it’s all Harry can do not to plaster himself against him, though an equally large part of him wants to crawl into Roman’s lap and get a hand around him. Roman looks like he’s suffering just as much as Harry is, and Harry feels for the guy.

“You guys are still—” Evan says, stops. Harry doesn’t know if it’s a bashful refusal to continue the sentence, which they’re still working through — Harry is firmly of the opinion that you should be able to talk about sex to have sex, though he knows it’s harder for Evan than it is for him — or if it’s just blatantly obvious Harry is two breaths away from getting off against the hard line of Evan’s hip and fuck doing things the right way as long as he gets off. “You want to—”

Harry doesn’t even know what he wants to do. Like, come, obviously, but the choices are kind of staggering, and his brain isn’t exactly at its optimal level when his blood’s all rushed down to his dick, and every time he looks at anything — Roman’s broad chest, Evan’s nipples, tight and pink from Roman’s handling, the wet spot darkening Roman’s navy briefs, the loose, comfortable splay of Evan’s thighs — Harry’s brain goes _that, I want that._ Harry got why Evan hesitated before, but now he’s _really_ getting it, completely indecisive in the face of his options.

“Ev?” Harry asks, selfishly wanting Evan to decide for them, not only because that means Evan will be okay with whatever’s decided but because Harry just can’t right now. “What do you want us to do?”

“I want Roman to fuck you,” Evan says immediately, sounding very, very sure.

Yeah, between Evan confidently deciding what he wants and the idea itself, the meter is officially broken. Harry hadn’t thought of that specifically but now that he is it is not going to go away. Harry’s fucked himself, fingers and toys. Thought of doing it with Evan, but Evan’s dick is the kind of thing you have to work up to, _especially_ if you plan on skating the next night. Roman’s isn’t…unintimidating, but. Fuck. Harry wants to. Harry really wants to. Even if he does not trust himself not to blow it by, well…blowing a load first.

“I mean, only—” Evan says, the hesitation creeping right back.

“Yes,” Harry says immediately. “I’m in. Or. Roman’s in, I guess would be the more—”

Roman groans. 

“You don’t get to groan at my puns if you’re going to fuck me,” Harry says. “There are rules, Novak.”

“You don’t get to call me Novak if you want me to fuck you,” Roman says without missing a beat. Don’t say it, Harry thinks desperately, don’t— “That’s my father.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” Harry says.

“You don’t get a monopoly on bad jokes,” Roman says.

“Mine wasn’t even bad!” Harry says. “Just because you can’t appreciate a good pun—”

“Guys?” Evan says, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Oh,” Harry says.

“Right,” Roman says. “Fucking. Probably a better idea than arguing.”

“Well,” Harry says, then, probably doing a very bad job of hiding his enthusiasm for the idea, especially since it’s like, _right there_ , “I guess.”

Roman grins at him, and Harry can’t help but grin back.


End file.
